Woman of Tomorrow

It's time you all got to know the Thomas family in this "MARVELOUS Mini's" story that is told in more than one part.

It is all narrated by Angelle Thomas (the twin sister of Sean Thomas).

~~~~~~~~~~~~~​

Part One​

My name is Angelle Thomas, and I’m a 31-year-old female of almost every decent (African, Native American, Asian…you name it), with a high I.Q. and beauty that would attract any male right off the bat. So why was I standing in my cluttered, forty-story apartment building in San Francisco with a wires, cables, and tools of many kinds surrounding me and not off partying my butt off with friends my age? Well, simple answer. First, I don’t have many friends to hang out with. In fact, I don’t have any friends at all. When you work for an organization like S.H.I.E.L.D. (an acronym that originally stood for Supreme Headquarters, International Espionage, Law-Enforcement Division, but changed to Strategic Hazard Intervention, Espionage Logistics Directorate by 1991), it kind of hard to have a social lifestyle.

I can honestly say that I’m proud to be a secret agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. Most people believe that the life of a secret agent is like James Bond or something, where you get to woo people into getting what you want or use high-tech gadgets to save the day. Well, I get to use nifty gadgets on my missions. But I’m always the one to invent them.

Oh, yeah. Before I continue on, I should probably mention that I am an inventor. I spend my time cooped up in my apartment, developing all sorts of machines for General Nicholas Joseph “Nick” Fury. He found potential in my intelligence at quite an early age (thirteen, to be exact), and I ended up leaving home the moment he discovered me. I left everything and everyone I loved that day, from my parents to my four siblings (Alissa, Larissa, Melanie, and Sean). Fury keeps me up to date on their lives—only recently he revealed to me that Sean and Alissa were involved in quite a scandal involving Professor Krassman (who had been number one on our hit list, until he mysteriously disappeared) and Agent Edgar K. Singer of C.O.V.N.E.T. (who have been our most hated rivals since the late 70s).

I appreciate Fury informing me about my family, but hearing about them isn’t as great as actually seeing them. And it has been years since I hugged my twin brother, Sean Thomas. I know he misses me, especially considering that I was the only other member of the family that shared the African gene with him. Had I been a biologist instead of a technological expert, I would take the time to figure out why our family is so multi-colored. Alissa and Larissa clearly have a hint of African in them, but they are also Jewish, Native American, Hungarian, Swedish, British, and other ethnicities like myself. It is so unbelievable!

It only seems like our cousins are the two who aren’t “victims” of our bizarre and yet marvelous gene pool. And speaking of them, the last I’ve heard from our one cousin, Terah Thomas, she was on leave from her duties with Scooter Grosse (lucky her). I wonder even at this moment what she plans on doing with her time off from S.H.I.E.L.D. Hopefully it’s something worthwhile, like visiting our semi-estranged family…because that is exactly what I plan on doing right now.

Fury gave me orders to build him a new device that will assist him and other agents in an upcoming mission. I’m under orders to refrain from any social contact—an order that I’ve been forced to follow since I ended up under S.H.I.E.L.D. control. But what I’m about to do with this new invention for him will finally disobey that direct order and allow me to do what I have longed to do since I became part of the organization: see my family.

~~~~~~~~~~~~​

Most of the inventions that I create for Fury come from just combining the simplest household appliances on Earth. In the case of my newest creation, I am combining a microwave oven and a remote control. It’s not like I’ll be watching television or eating anything for a while. I’m about to go on a long vacation…but I think the amount of time I’ll be away will be pointless to add up.

Just a few connected wires there and some others there, and…Done! My invention is complete. It pretty much still looks like an average remote control; but it’s been added with components from the microwave, such as a green LED display that depicted six-digit numbers with a slash mark between each pair of numbers. All I have to do is enter the numbers through the ones located on the controller’s buttons, and they will appear on the LED display.

So, as soon as it is complete, I enter “08/25/01” into the remote control and the LED displays the numbers almost instantly. Then I press the “Enter” button and something that I anticipated on happening actually happens.

A beam of white light shoots out from the top of the controller and hits one area of space within my living room. A swirling blue vortex that starts sucking some of the air suddenly consumes that area. The huge breeze blows my long, black hair all around my head, and I move some of it from my eyes to see the vortex in front of me. Needless to say I am stunned by it, knowing that my invention is a huge success. But one small flaw in it is the sucking power of the vortex. Half of the items in my living room, from my coffee table to my television set, get sucked into the vortex.

“Oh, crap!u201D I exclaim, realizing the possibility of an implosion if I didn’t shut off the vortex right away.

Gazing back to the controller, I attempt to hit the “Cancel” button, but the vortex already snatches the remote control right out of my hand before I even have the chance. I watch it go directly into the heart of the unnatural beast and instinct forced me into chasing after it. As soon as I am within the boundaries of the vortex, I feel a weird sensation coursing through my body, as if every molecule in it is coming apart. And that seems to be exactly what is happening as I look at my hand and see it disintegrating before my very eyes.

A loud, ear-piercing scream emerges from my throat through my mouth, but it isn’t in pain. It’s from the panic of seeing my own form atomizing. Can you blame me? I mean, if it were your body, would you scream, too?

My screaming suddenly gets droned out, just as my mouth and throat atomize along with the rest of me. All of the pieces go directly into the vortex, swirling around and around at a dizzying pace. Had my stomach still been intact, I would take this moment to vomit. But without a digestive system, how could that be possible?

It isn’t long before I come across a pitch-black section of the vortex tunnel that I’m traveling down, and I’m left with no idea of what is happening around me. I start to hear voices after a few moments of swirling. Rapidly speaking voices…talking so fast that they almost sound like Alvin and the Chipmunks.

Yet, despite the rapid speed of the chattering, I’m still able to make out what is being echoed all around me:

“What the frell?u201D

“GUARDIANS UNITE!u201D

“Together again! Gee, it’s good to be together again! I just can’t imagine that you’ve ever been gone! It’s not starting over, it’s just going on!u201D

“You’re…my friend.”

“Never wound what you can’t kill.”

“This is a great way of making up for being bad guys, ain’t it, Butch?u201D

“Ten bucks sayin’ the web-head’s gonna get his face mauled by Bone Saw.”

“THE AMAZING SPIDER-MAN!u201D

Some of the voices that I heard sounded vaguely familiar. But before I even have the chance to figure out whom it might’ve been that said it, a bright flash of light suddenly shines before my eyes. The next thing I know, my molecules are blown out of the vortex and I’m reformed back to my normal state.

The first thing that I do as I’m brought back together is heave all over the ground. The trip through the vortex took quite a toll on my constitution. I would not recommend any human being (or Muppet, for that matter) going through something like that.

After I regain my senses, I look around the area to see where it is I ended up. No longer am I inside my apartment…I’m standing in the middle of a junkyard at night. The vortex is still swirling behind me, and I know that I have to shut it off before something sharp and deadly gets sucked in my direction.

Luckily, as I look down at the ground, I see the controller laying right there in front of my feet. I pick it up, face in the direction of the vortex, and press the “Cancel” button to shut it off. Before I know it, the vortex implodes itself into nothingness, leaving behind a small blue haze. Looking down at the controller in my hands, I realize that I have a successful invention on my hands. Just wait until General Fury gets a load of it; he’ll be sure to let me have some leisure time.

“HEY!u201D A grouchy voice says behind me. I turn around to see who it is, and I’m a little surprised to discover that it is Oscar the Grouch, walking through the junkyard in his infamous trashcan. “What’re ya doin’ here? You ain’t plannin’ on stealin’ my garbage, are ya?u201D

This is actually the first moment in my life that I have ever encountered a Muppet up close. I’m not exactly certain how to respond to him. And the best thing I can come up with at the top of my head is: “What year is it?u201D

“Uh, yeah.” I say, still not certain how to respond. “Somethin’ like that.”

He looks up and down at me for a long time, as if to assess my background…at least that’s what I could assume he is doing. I’ve only heard stories about this character from records we have back at S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, and some of what I read I could hardly believe. But now that I see him up close…Man! Now I can believe it.

The Grouch (as I guess I can call him) continues gawking at me, several thoughts running through his mind, until he finally says; “If it’ll get ya off my back…the year is 2001.”

“August 25th, 2001?u201D I ask to make sure.

“Hey! I gave ya a year! What else do ya want? A cookie? I know this monster who could help ya out with that!u201D

Ignoring the Grouch’s rants, I look past him and towards the horizon, where the New York skyline is. He’s right! I am in 2001! The Twin Towers are still standing! This is unbelievable!

“I’ve finally invented a real time machine!u201D I say out loud, which unknowingly stopped the Grouch’s ranting.

“What?u201D He utters, but I have no time to even explain it all to him (not like he would understand to begin with). Even as I walk away from him, I can hear him say, “What a nutjob!u201D But I simply ignore it, because there is someone more pleasant who I want to see right now.

As I exit the junkyard, a taxicab suddenly crosses my path, and I shout out for it as soon as it does. And wouldn’t you know it…the taxi stops! Who says they don’t stop for Black folks in New York? Ha, ha!

I jump into the taxicab and tell the driver, “Could you take me to the Happiness Hotel, please?u201D

The driver, who (as luck would have it) turns out to be a fuzzy brown Muppet with blue eyes and a gray jacket worn over a plaid shirt, turns to me and says, “What a coincidence! I was just on my way there!u201D Even as he speaks to me, I can’t help but wonder if he is as dimwitted as he sounds…and looks. “Hold on tight now!u201D

And the next thing I know, he slams his foot down hard on the gas pedal, causing the rear tires to screech as they rolled rapidly over the pavement. I’m roughly thrown back in my seat, feeling as if I’m sinking in it, as this cab driver (who, according to his license, is named Beauregard) takes me to my requested destination.

This story is just a little something that I have to pass the time until the release of "Who Ya Gonna Call?" It'll get us ready for the events of the Iron Man/Muppets story by introducing the new characters in past form.

Never have I experienced such a wild ride—okay, maybe that one time in Disney World, but that is a completely different story. The way this cab driver named Beauregard drives is beyond acceptable. I mean this dude should have his driver’s license revoked! I’m tossed around the back of the cab like a rag doll, and there he is at the wheel, actually smiling calmly as if this were a Sunday drive, careening and weaving all around the street! Who does this guy think he is? Doc Brown?

By the time we reach Downtown Manhattan, I’m already feeling myself wanting to heave again. The trip through the vortex was rough, but this is like Space Mountain! Am I really making the wise decision going to the Happiness Hotel? A place that (as described in S.H.I.E.L.D. records) is the most rundown, poor-excuse-of-a-building that ever stood in Manhattan, still holding occupants. I really should’ve stayed my mixed butt at home in 2008!

I wouldn’t have even gotten enough time to tell this guy to pull over and forget it anyways, because as soon as I had finished my thought, the next thing I know…we’ve arrived at the Happiness Hotel. But the ride isn’t over yet. Instead of stopping at the front of the house, this little fella crashes right through the front door! Now, without a seatbelt on, I am pretty much liable to be sent crashing through the windshield. But instead I’m thrown into the front seat, with my upper body down on the dusty, dirty cab floor and my lower body lying over the seat. I could feel my feet touching the moldy ceiling and even sinking through it like quicksand.

And to add on to my humiliation, Beauregard turns and addresses my butt (believing it, for some reason, to be my head). “Welcome to the Happiness Hotel, miss! Hope you enjoy your stay!” he says.

“Thanks.” I coldly utter, as I try to open the passenger side door near me. As soon as I am able to get it open, I fall out of the cab and land outside on the floor with a loud thud. The foundation of the building must be weaker than it appears, because I actually feel the whole d**n thing shake after I hit the floor.

Standing upright and dusting myself off, I look around at the interior of the building much more closely. It is indeed just as how it was described in the S.H.I.E.L.D. file: “a dilapidated residential hotel, based on the once four-star hotel in the London area.” I think they must’ve moved the whole building from London to Manhattan, because this place looks exactly like the Happiness Hotel in London (which was torn down in 1984, due to severely poor conditions). My guess would be this “U.S. version” will be ripped to shreds by late-2008.

“Can I help ya out, missy?” Someone asks me.

I turn around and look past the taxicab parked in what I can assume is the lobby, and I notice an old Muppet man standing behind the front desk, wearing glasses (with eyes behind them there are either closed or squinted) and has a huge white mustache, green nose, and white hair at the sides of his head. He looks to me like he could be the owner of this rundown shack, because he looks just as old as it does.

That is when I hear several doors in the building open up and all sorts of Muppet characters pop their heads out, all looking down at me and screaming, “SOMEBODY’S CHECKING IN?” And then I hear this music start playing, before all these residents start singing this peculiar song.

The old Muppet man sings, “Oh, there’s no fire in the fireplace, there’s no carpet on the floor. Don’t try to order dinner, there’s no kitchen anymore. But if the road’s been kind of bumpy and you need to rest a spell.”

“Well, welcome home to Happiness Hotel!” The residents sing in harmony.

“So, missy…how’re ya fixin’ to pay?” The old Muppet man asks me.

“Well, you see, I’m not here to…” Before I can even finish, Scooter Grosse pops up near me and sings himself.

“If you got luggage keep it handy, but you’re runnin’ out of luck, ‘cause the bellhops ain’t too organized and the elevator’s stuck.”

A rat then pops up near my feet and sings, “So if you don’t mind friendly animals and can learn to stand the smell…”

“Well, welcome home to Happiness Hotel!”

“Why are there bellhops rats?” I ask the old Muppet man.

“‘Cause we need faster service.” A Muppet dog tells me.

“Faster service?” I remark.

“Yeah, once the cat gets out, the service gets a lot faster.”

I hear a few chuckles from the other residents. I don’t quite get the joke and not really bother figuring it out any longer, as they all keep singing. “Welcome home (welcome home)! Welcome home (welcome home)! No matter where you wander you will never do as well!”

“Okay the lobby’s looking shabby and it’s got the wrong address.”

“And the whole dang thing has been condemned by American Express!”

“Still the management is cheerful though the whole joint’s gone to h*ll!”

“Well, welcome home to Happiness Hotel!”

I turn back to the old Muppet behind the front desk who seems like the only one I can talk to at the moment. “Listen, there’s been a mistake. I’m not here to check in. I’m looking for…”

And again, another lyric interrupts me by the Muppet dog and the rats. “Oh, there are bugs (there are bugs), and there are lice (there are lice).”

“Sure, we have our little problems, but you’ll never beat the price,” Scooter sings, “You got every kind of critter, you got every kind of pest.”

“But we treat them all as equals just like any other guest,” The old Muppet sings. “Though you’re cleaner than the others, still as far as we can tell.”

“You’ll fit right in at Happiness Hotel!”

And as soon as they finish their little song, Sam the Eagle pops his head out from the doorway to his upstairs room to gaze upon all of the strange residents of the hotel. “You are all weirdos!”

“Now, missy, as I has asked ya before…how’re ya fixin’ to pay?” The old Muppet man, whom by the nameplate on the desk says is named Pops, asks me. “Your choices are: A) cash, B) credit card, or C) sneak out in the middle of the night.”

Before I could attempt to tell him again that I’m not here to check in, I hear a familiar voice from behind Beauregard’s crashed taxicab. “Hi-ho. What’s going on? Sounds like we missed out on another great welcoming song.” And I turn in the direction that the voice came from to see Kermit the Frog walking around the taxi with Fozzie Bear and Gonzo the Great by his side.

“Kermit!” I yell, rushing up to him immediately and shaking his hand almost uncontrollably. “It’s a real honor to meet the legend! You…you’re the legend! You saved us all last year! Truly!”

He looks at me as if I have six heads, which is (like with the Grouch) explainable since he has no idea whatsoever what I’m talking about. “Uh…thanks. It was not easy confronting a woman like Rachel Bitterman, but we were able to do it and save the Muppet Theatre at the same time.”

Oh, good. He thinks I’m talking about the year that Rachel Bitterman nearly took custody of their theater, instead of the incident at the construction site to Bitterman Plaza (an area that has been restricted by S.H.I.E.L.D. personnel for study ever since that incident). But he still hasn’t the slightest clue who I am—not that he would in 2008, since we never had the pleasure of meeting in person.

“May I ask who you might be?” Kermit says.

I snap out of my trance just as I realize that he is talking to me. “I…I’m, uh…my name is…”

“You don’t know what your name is?” Fozzie asks.

“No, I just…” I utter, just as Gonzo interrupts me.

“That happened to me once.” He says. “After shooting myself out of a cannon and smacking into a brick wall, I couldn’t even remember my own name for almost a year.”

“I don’t have amnesia, if that’s what you’re implying.” I tell Gonzo. “It’s just that I’m standing before three of the greatest Muppets in history.”

They look to one another in confusion, scratching their heads and (in Gonzo’s case) blinking rapidly. “Boy, ya do a movie for one year and start doing stage work the next, and you’re already the Rat Pack!” Gonzo exclaim.

“Somebody called?” One of the bellhop rats appears and says.

“No, Rizzo. It was just a cultural reference.” Gonzo replies, before the rat shrugs and walks off.

Watching the little fella walk off, I turn back to the legends and say, “My name’s Angelle Thomas. I’m the sister of Alissa and Sean Thomas, your friends and fellow Bugle coworkers.”

Now they are even more perplexed. “We don’t know anyone who goes by those names, Miss Thomas.” Kermit tells me.

So they haven’t checked into the Happiness Hotel yet. I should’ve known that I overshot my “jump date.” No wonder I didn’t see them in this decrepit hotel. I need to remember my files more thoroughly.

“But how do you know that we applied for jobs at The Daily Bugle?” Fozzie asks me. “We haven’t even gotten them yet.”

“We haven’t even told anybody about it yet.” Gonzo adds.

Their puzzled gawks soon turn to suspicious glances, and I can tell that I’m already ruining my welcome to the hotel. Without even thinking first, I tell them, “It’s in the continuity of the fan fiction series.” I don’t even know why I said it. I just felt like saying it for some reason, and it came out of me without any physiological notice. “Breaking the third wall” is what they call it? No, not third! Fourth! The Fourth Wall!

They’re quiet for a moment, and then they slowly start nodding their heads in understanding. “Never would’ve imagined that.” Kermit utters, and Gonzo & Fozzie agree. “Well, despite your uncanny knowledge, it is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Thomas.”

“Pleasure to meet you, too.” I say.

“So I’ve heard.” He mutters.

I then hear Pops address me again, just as anxiously as the first time. “I need an answer about that pay, missy.”

My intentions were never to stay at the Happiness Hotel, only visit since Sean and Alissa are supposed to have moved in here by this time. But I have grown so fond of these Muppet characters (they remind me so much of my siblings) that I cannot help but to stay for maybe the night. At least until Sean and Alissa get to moving in.

“Well, I’d love to stay, but…you see…I don’t have any…” I fumble because I’m not telling the entire truth. I have money, but it is far too ahead of time to be accepted in 2001. Pops and the other Muppets can take it if they wanted—might do some good for this rundown place of theirs, obtaining brand new dollar bills that no one of this time has ever laid eyes on.

“Did he tell you about ‘Choice C’?” Kermit asks me.

“Sneak out in the middle of the night?” I say. “Oh, no. I wouldn’t want to do anything as immoral as that. If I’m staying, I’d like to pay as fairly as the other residents have.”

I spend the night at the Happiness Hotel thinking that things are going to feel no different than when I’m resting at my own place, which I admit is a pigsty itself. But, man, was I ever wrong during my first night there! I slept in one of the soggiest, springiest mattresses that I have ever rested my body on. I felt like the bed was absorbing my figure during the time that I had been sleeping on it. My neck, head, and back felt like a samurai sword had sliced them when I woke up the next morning.

And what it doesn’t help much that I hear loud music playing outside my raggedy room just as soon as I did:

I walk out of my room to see every resident of the house doing several different activities, from standing in a ridiculously long line to use the bathroom to dancing and singing near the lobby. Even Kermit, Gonzo, and Fozzie are in the midst of the “Morning Dance Party,” getting down with their bad selves.

“She’s a brick house!” Gonzo sings. “She’s the one, the only one who’s built like an Amazon! We’re together everybody knows, and here’s how the story goes!”

Kermit, holding a toothbrush in his hand (which I fail to see the reason why he needs in the first place, since he doesn’t have any teeth), sings into the utensil. “She knows she’s got everything that a woman needs to get a man, yeah! How can she lose with what she use…36-24-36, what a winning hand! Take it, Fozzie!”

“She’s a brick house!” Fozzie sings, while spinning his sleeping cap in the air. “Mighty, mighty…just letting it all hang out! She’s a brick house! The lady’s stacked and that’s a fact…ain’t holdin’ nothing back!”

A king prawn, whom I believe is named Pepe (according to S.H.I.E.L.D. records), steps in and sings himself. “De clothes she wears, de sexy ways!”

Then two old Muppet men named Statler and Waldorf (if I remember) take it over. “Makes an old man wish for younger days!”

“She knows she’s built and knows how to please!” sings a Muppet who—I’m just guessing—is named Clifford.

And one Muppet that I cannot mistake is Miss Piggy comes in and deeply sings, “Sure enough to knock a man to his knees!”

“Cause she’s a brick house!” They all sing together. “Mighty-mighty, just lettin’ it all hang out! She’s a brick house! The lady’s stacked and that’s a fact…ain’t holding nothin’ back!”

“Shake it down, shake it down now! Shake it down, shake it down now! Shake it down, shake it down, down, down, yeah! Shake it down, shake it down now! Shake it down, shake it down now! SHAKE IT!”

This must be like a daily routine for them, because their dance steps are so well executed and really in-sync with the song. Honestly, it would’ve been the cutest thing I’ve ever seen, if it were not for the fact that I’m in such great pain and still have Sean and Alissa on my mind.

They should be here today, I keep telling myself again and again.

Without any nightwear of my own to change out of (I slept in my blue jean shorts and brown tank top shirt), I just head downstairs to the kitchen and see what these strange characters have to offer. It is only by the time I got to the doorway that is supposed to lead straight to the kitchen that I find a sign hanging there, which read, “Kitchen No Longer Exists! Head Downstairs For The ‘Chow Room’!”

My first thought of this is: “Chow Room”…what the h*ll?

It sounds just as ridiculous as an eleventh toe, but what can I expect from the crowd that I am currently living amongst. So, just to humor myself, I head downstairs to this particular room, just to humor myself, and as soon as I get there, almost the entire house is there. Even the chef (who I believe is only named “The Swedish Chef”—his real name is listed as “unknown” in the records) is there, cooking up our breakfast.

The Chef exclaims something in his native Swedish tongue as he makes a batch of scrambled eggs to go with the strips of bacon, toasted bread, oatmeal, and pancakes that he made. I can only guess that it must’ve had something to do with how he is making those eggs.

As soon as Kermit notices me, he says, “Hey there, Miss Thomas. Have you come to join us for breakfast?”

I look around the room for a minute and see things in it that remind me of the inside of a basement, such as an ancient boiler in the left corner and a set of pipes hanging near the ceiling. Not wanting to seem awkward just standing there and not saying a word, I tell Kermit, “Uh…yeah, I think I can join you all for a munch.”

So I figure “What the h*ll?” as I make my way towards the long, nicely decorated table and sit down between Gonzo and Fozzie, who are situated to the right of Kermit, who sits at the head of the table. Judging from the size of the wooden chair that my butt almost gets stuck to as I sit down, I’m the first human being to have ever stepped foot in this room.

“I wouldn’t have guessed that.” I say with sarcasm, but not enough to sound ungrateful. “How often do you guys eat in here?”

“Mostly during the holidays, like Christmas or Thanksgiving.” Fozzie says. “For occasional breakfast, lunch, and dinner, we eat in our own separate rooms.”

“What makes today so different?” I ask.

“Because today we’re actually eating real eggs.” Gonzo says.

“What kind of eggs have you been eating?” I inquire with great concern.

“Rotten ones.” Fozzie says with disgust.

I stick my tongue out in reaction to the horrible revelation. “You poor things. Why do you force yourselves to eat such rotten food?”

“Well, it’s not like we eat them all the time.” Fozzie utters. “It’s just usually when the chicken forgets to pay his rent.” The bear takes his hat off and wiggles his ears in the cutest way while saying, “Wocka! Wocka!”

Even though the joke was pretty bad (Hey, it’s Fozzie Bear!), I couldn’t help but to give a little chuckle. They are such uncanny characters that I feel like I have known for years, reading bits and pieces of their backgrounds through S.H.I.E.L.D. records. They have always told us to never get close to your objectives while on a mission, because it meant your life would be in peril if you did. But I’m not on some mission assigned to me by General Fury. I’m just enjoying the life that I’ve always wished to have outside the S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters.

As soon as the Swedish Chef sets the food down on the table, I find out why this room is called “The Chow Room” instantly. No one bothers to say grace like any normal human being (which these characters obviously aren’t), but grab for whatever dish they desire to munch on without warning. Through all of the grabbing and snatching, I can barely tell if anybody there has even bothered using a knife or a fork to eat with. All I see are hands going into and coming out of mouths.

Then I spot Miss Piggy and Sam the Eagle individually, noticing how disgusted they are at the sight. It’s understandable that they are, since they are the most dignified ones of the bunch, as it seems. But it is stiffs like them that remind me of the ones that I work for at S.H.I.E.L.D. So instead of looking like one of them right now, I join in on the chaos, grabbing whatever I could off the table and shoving it into my mouth. The only time I could regularly eat with my hands is when I’m munching on a cheeseburger with fries. Never before (and hopefully never again) have I eaten scrambled eggs with my bare hands.

In the corner of my eye, I can see Sam the Eagle gawking in my direction, possibly with as much disgust as with the rest of the horrible eaters. What a way to make an impression on my future department supervisor! Luckily, it’s not until December of this same year when he first becomes that, having been personally hand-picked by Fury himself to take the job. But will he even recognize me by then, even though I’ll look seven years younger and have better table manners? I hope not. Ha, ha!

~~~~~~~~~~~~​

After breakfast was over, I head upstairs and approach the front desk where Pops is, just as he was the first night I met him. By this time, I should’ve told him that I’d be checking out, since my “friends” were not here as I had expected. But, to be honest, I am having too much fun to even leave. And I know that I should, because in the original timeline, it’s only Sean and Alissa who check into the Hotel. Not me.

And with me there, there isn’t much vacancy left in the Happiness Hotel.

“It’s not fair,” I say aloud.

And as expected, Pops hears me and responds, “What’s not fair?”

“Nothing.” I reply, not wanting to give away any secret information about myself that would ruin the time stream. “I’m just thinking about how an overbearing fella like George W. Bush can be elected president. He can’t even give speeches right more less end the War in Iraq.”

“There’s a war a-goin’ in Iraq?” Pops says with confusion.

Before I could correct my minor error, I hear a loud, familiar voice behind me, speaking in an angry tone. “I BEG YOUR PARDON!” I turn around to see Sam standing there, with his arms…I’m sorry, wings…folded in anger. He looks like he’s about to chew (or maybe peck) my butt out, much like he does in 2008 while I’m under his supervision. “George W. Bush is one of the proudest Americans I have ever had the pleasure of meeting before he came into the presidential chair! I have even met his father, who was…I apologize…is just as great!” He then points at me viciously—much like the infamous “Uncle Sam” posters way back then—and says, “And you, young lady, should learn to respect such marvelous figures like him! You have no idea how great of an impact he will make on this world!”

And as my future supervisor leaves the scene, I utter under my breath, “You have no idea, man.” Thankfully, he didn’t hear me, because it is bad enough that he had to witness my lack of manners. I can only imagine how much suffering my 2001 self will have to endure because of my errors in this timeline.

As I turn back to Pops, having no idea why I came to his area in the first place, I notice a telephone sitting next to him as he is writing down something in a big, old, dirty book. It suddenly hit me how I can reach Sean and Alissa before they even arrive at the Hotel, saving myself from alternating the timeline. I can easily call and tell them how much I love them. If I can’t see them in person, at least I can hear their voices just once—Fury doesn’t even allow us to have a decent phone call once in a while.

Temptation quickly overtaking me, I ask Pops, “Can I use that phone?”

Looking away from his book, Pops gazes at me, then at the phone, and then back at me. “I dunno. Can’t ya?”

I roll my eyes. Fooled again by another cute Muppet joke.

“I’m serious, Pops.” I say. “I have to make an important call.”

“I’m being serious, too, missy.” Pops says. “This phone right here hasn’t been workin’ in years. Tried to get Beauregard, George, and even Bunsen to find the time to fix it, but them boys haven’t got the time.”

I couldn’t help but to chuckle at Pops’ sentiment, realizing how ironic it is to my situation. “Word of advice, Pops…never mention the subject of time to the ‘Woman of Tomorrow’.”

That is always what they called me at S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, mocking my profession as a talented inventor. They meant for it to be insulting, but I actually find it impressive. I build so many super-inventive projects that it’s almost like I once lived in the world of tomorrow. At least it’s better than the word that rhymes with a certain Winnie the Pooh character—I’ve been called that one too many times during missions in the south.

I pick up the old telephone and look over it, measuring its weight and width like I always do with objects before I fix or combine them into newer devices. It’s a lot older than it feels, possibly developed sometime in the 1950s. Then again, it’s a rotary phone, so I didn’t need to feel it to figure that out. God! I’m so d**n absent-minded sometimes.

“Oh, this is a piece of cake.” I utter.

“No, it’s not. It’s a telephone.” Pops tells me.

There goes that Muppet humor again. It’s so precious!

I’m just about to get started on stripping the old telephone apart, until I hear the front door of the Hotel open. I stop what I’m doing and look in its direction, figuring that it would be Sean and Alissa themselves, saving me the trouble of fixing the telephone in the first place. I see one single shadow peek out from the ajar door, and I can’t help but to feel disappointed.

It’s just another guest, who I’m robbing the opportunity of staying here, since I’d taken his or her vacant room.

But then my disappointment soon eases as soon as the stranger steps inside. It isn’t Sean or Alissa or even just another guest. It’s Larissa Thomas…my youngest sibling!

21-years old, she is the spinning image of Alissa Thomas—which makes sense, considering that they are sisters—but the only difference is the personality. Whereas Alissa is (as Terah described her during her fourteenth birthday) “one tough little tramp”, Larissa is the shy, sometimes quiet one that hardly anyone seems to notice, unless she coughs or utters a single word. I remember one time at a New Year’s Eve party, everyone had always asked where Larissa was, not spotting her anywhere in the house in San Francisco where we celebrated. It was only a few hours after the clock struck midnight and the New Year began when we realized that she had been sitting in the corner the whole time.

Most of us wish that Alissa could be more like Larissa, since she is such a loudmouth, while Larissa is almost like a timid little rabbit (no offense to her, of course—it’s just the way I perceive her). And I wonder even at this very moment why she would come alone to New York, in a place where there are characters as wild and crazy as her older sister, all by herself.
“E-Excuse me?” She asks Pops with a small voice that could be only heard if the room is entirely silent. “But w-would you by any c-chance have a r-room for r-rent?” It always sounds like she’s scared when she’s talking, but it is actually her nervousness kicking in. You see…Larissa is a stutterer. Just about every word she says comes out with a stutter. It’s all part of her shy personality.

Pops, not taking notice one bit of her speech impediment, says in response to her question, “Well, now…I wish I can tell ya that we have one for rent. But the truth is…”

I could already tell ahead of time that he is going to tell her that there’s no vacancy within the Hotel, all because of me. So I jump in as quickly as I could, interrupting him by exclaiming, “Of course we do!”

“You d-do?” Larissa says.

“We do?” Pops then says.

“Yes, we do.” I say with great clarification.

I notice Pops scratching his head with confusion, as Larissa gazes between both of us and smiles. “I’m s-so happy t-to hear t-that. I-I’ve been h-hoping to f-find s-someplace t-to stay w-while I’m h-here in N-New York C-City.” Her stuttering gets more obvious when she is really excited about something. It’s cute, nonetheless.

One thing that I’m rather surprised by, as soon as she notices my presence, is that she doesn’t even recognize me as her own sister. I can see it in her eyes that she does but seems to neglect it quite a bit. Have I been away from home that long? Have I aged that much since then? Probably best that she doesn’t recognize me. Who knows what kind of affect it would have on the time stream.

“Let me show you to your room, Larissa.” I say, only afterwards to take notice in the mistake I’d made in uttering her name before she even said it. Luckily, I’m able to correct myself before she can even ask how I knew it. “I mean…Miss Thomas.” That was even worst! She never even said her last name more less her first.

As anticipated, she asks me, “H-Have I m-met y-you somewhere b-before?” I’m stumped. I have no idea how to cover my mistake on this one. For a moment, I ask myself whether it would be a good idea to tell her the truth, resulting in the whole Hotel itself finding out who I really am. But fate always seem to have a way of pulling my butt out of the fire, such as when Larissa says afterwards, “I j-just have t-this w-weird feeling that I-I met y-you s-somewhere b-before.”

I don’t think she even realized that I uttered her name before a formal introduction. Like I said, fate has its impressive moments. It just gave me a perfect chance at covering up my error. “No, I’m sorry. I just can’t quite place your face.” I say.

“What’s wrong with her own head?” Pops asks, and his comedic timing seems to have brought more light-heartedness to the situation. Soon we are forgetting all about trying to recognize each other and have a good laugh over Pops’ joke. It is the first time in years that I believe I’ve ever seen my youngest sibling laugh.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~​

I take Larissa to the room that I have been staying in for the recent hours, knowing that this is probably the room she originally taken. I’m still at a complete lost as to how she ended up coming before Sean and Alissa have. I can’t remember reading in the records that she had ever moved into the Happiness Hotel in 2001. Then again, this is Larissa we’re talking about. If my family wasn’t able to acknowledge her presence at a New Year’s party, then what makes S.H.I.E.L.D. think they’d be able to keep any records on her?

The moment I lead her into the room, the first thing she does is drop her heavy suitcase on the bed. Before I can even warn her about its malfunction, the bed suddenly reveals it by springing backwards and closes back into the wall. She turns to me and gives me an odd look, and I just simply grin as if I have gotten used to it already.

“Don’t worry. It comes back down.” I tell her, and just to prove that to her, I reach up and pull the bed back down to its horizontal position, with Larissa’s suitcase still sitting there. “Ya see?”

“Y-Yeah. I-I’m c-cool with i-it.” Larissa says, before she slowly and carefully sat down on the edge of the bed. After a few moments of silence, she finally musters the courage to ask me, “S-So h-how long h-have y-you been s-staying h-here?”

“Not that long.” I say. “I actually moved in last night.”

She looks a little surprised after I say that. “L-Last n-night? H-How is t-that possible?”

“Well, my original intentions weren’t on staying. I’m actually just here to visit a couple of friends of mine. Some folks that you might be familiar with.”

“R-R-Really?” She says with a smile. “W-What a-are their n-names?”

I feel a little reluctant to tell her at first, but something in me says that it will be all right. “Sean and Alissa Thomas.”

Her hazel eyes grow wide with amazement, which is just the reaction that I’d anticipated from her. “H-How do you k-know them?” When she gets curious like that, her stuttering starts to cease a little. “I’ve n-never seen you a-around San F-Francisco.”

“Well, I…” Now I seem to be the one stammering, finding myself too shy to tell her the whole truth. But then she cuts me off in a way that I am glad that she does, because I wouldn’t have been able to give her a straight answer.

“W-Wait a sec.” She says, looking at me closely. “I d-do s-seem to r-recognize y-you a l-little.” She gets up from the bed and approaches me. As she stands in front of me, it is hard not to notice to height difference between us (five inches, to be exact). So instead of looking straight into her eyes, I’m looking down at her eyes. I’m assuming just by doing so, she’s figuring out where she has seen me before. “T-This might s-sound a l-little w-weird…b-but you r-remind m-me of m-my s-sister, A-Angelle.”

Man! Is she the smartest of all the Thomas siblings or what? Nothing could get by her. And I would just be insulting her intelligence if I did. So that is why I decide to come clean at that moment. “It is me, Larissa.” Now her eyes grew so wide that I’m starting to believe they are on the verge of popping out of her head. Just how many surprises can one woman take? “I’m from the year 2008. I came here through a time machine that I invented for S.H.I.E.L.D., the organization that I’ve been working for since I left home.”

“I t-thought y-you w-went to c-college.”

“Who told you that?”

“A-Alissa.”

I roll my eyes and smile. “Figures.” Only she would make up such a wild story that makes only a fraction of sense, considering that I was quite intelligent at the age of thirteen (the age that I left). I have to confess, it was a great cover-up for my departure.

“S-So w-why are y-you h-here now?”

“Like I said, I came here to see Sean and Alissa…to see them during a time when they were still young and lively…not emotionally drained and in despair like they are in 2008.”

I take a deep breath before I explain. “A lot…a lot of stuff from 2007. Some things I can’t exactly disclose, because S.H.I.E.L.D. is still going into investigation. But I can say that they are completely different people in 2008 than they are in this year. They have yet to experience the nightmares that they’ve had.”

As I explain this all to her, I hope in my conscience that she isn’t traumatized. Out of all my siblings, Larissa is the most precious to me. So young and so innocent. Even the slightest bit of bad news could bring tears to her eyes. But she surprises me this one time, when she stands there and soaks in all the information I’d just given her, showing no signs of worry or fear. Instead, she just seems perplexed.

She’s a lot different from the nine-year-old who I hugged so tightly before I walked out of the house.

“I just want to see them again. See the happy smiles on their faces. Maybe even find out how you guys were able to get by without me there everyday.”

Larissa looks over at me, with a look on her face that shows only some bit of concern. After a while, she reaches into her right pocket of her blue jeans and pulls out what appears to be a small photograph. It is so small that I can barely make out who or what is on the picture. She looks at the subject on the photograph and her eyes start to water, as a huge smile grows on her face.

“S-Sean and A-Alissa are in S-San F-Francisco right n-now.” Larissa tells me. “T-They w-were on t-their way o-out of the t-town with m-me, u-until they g-got a c-call from A-Aunt Victoria, t-telling us t-that s-she adopted a n-new b-baby boy.” She then walks a little closer to me and hands me the photograph. “T-This is h-him…a-and me.”

I look down at the photograph and see a captured image of Larissa and a very tiny Muppet baby with brown, foamed skin and a small patch of black hair on his head. She is holding the little fella in the palm of her hand, with her fingers arched forward a little to support his little head. I was wrong when I mentioned that Larissa is the most precious thing in the world to me. This little guy is…my cousin…

And then it hit me…my cousin? I have a cousin? There were not any records listed on him at S.H.I.E.L.D. Nothing telling me about an adopted member of my family born in 2001. I grow angry just thinking about it, nearly crumpling the beautiful photograph in my hand. Some smart guy at the organization that it would be in their best interest to keep records about my cousin (who I have to guess is eight or seven years old in my time) from me.

“What’s his name?” I ask Larissa, with my voice breaking a little.

Larissa tries hard not to stutter as she says the name, because even it means something sacred to her. “Stanley,” she flawlessly says. “H-His name i-is Stanley.”

It is a really beautiful name. Just as beautiful as the child himself. Looking at the photograph keeps me from getting heated over the issue of his records being kept hidden. Ha…listen to me…I’m so concerned about silly things like documentation all the time. When am I gonna learn that stuff doesn’t matter? I guess now is a better time than any.

“A-Angelle?” Larissa says, and I look away from the photograph and directly at her with watery eyes. She’s just as teary-eyed as I am right now. “W-Would you l-like to c-come w-with me t-to this n-nice l-little restaurant around t-the b-block? I-It’s called P-Pete’s.”

I smile at her, as I hand the photograph back to her. “I would love that a lot, Larissa. I would love that.”

Omg...i love it!
You capture me very nicely..."spot on actually", my mom said.
Lol =]
It actually sounds very much like me...you are very good at studying people. I've only talked to you twice on the phone and the first time was very brief. But somehow you managed to capture me perfectly. Lol ^_^

Pete’s isn’t that half bad of a place…that is, if you don’t mind the waiters there being rats. Believe me, I spent the night in a place covered with them, so I wouldn’t care less. As I walk in, I notice a lot of familiar faces from the past (literally), such as Rachel Bitterman. She must’ve been there to take notes of the place and find reasons for it to be torn down by 2006. It is in her nature as a banker to destroy things and take them over afterwards. But it was that nature of hers that led to her untimely death in 2007, when she was killed during the fight between Spider-Man and a bundle of other heroes against the Sandman and other villains.

As Larissa and I cross her path, I almost want for a moment to tell her not to waste her time, because destroying Pete’s will eventually destroy her. But I choose not to say a d**n thing, because not only would she consider that a threat, it would cause catastrophic consequences to the space-time continuum.

God! I hate Back to the Future!

Larissa and I sit down at a booth in the farthest corner of the room and wait for one of the waiters to show up and ask for our order. While we are waiting, there is nothing but silence between us, but I’m not sure if it is because Larissa is too shy to say anything or the fact that she now knows that I’m from the future. I wouldn’t blame her either way, because I’m too overwhelmed myself to say anything.

However, for some reason, I am able to bring myself to ask her, “So what are you doing in New York City?”

She looks at me for a brief moment and down towards her fidgety fingers while answering. “I-I came t-to f-find a r-room for S-Sean and A-Alissa. T-They’re g-gonna b-be staying h-here in M-Manhattan s-soon to s-start a n-new c-career in j-journalism.”

“At The Daily Bugle.” I say before she could have the chance to, knowing the rest of the story from the records that I read at S.H.I.E.L.D. “They’re coming to New York from San Francisco to begin their career at The Bugle, and they’re staying at the Happiness Hotel, because they couldn’t afford any better place.”

“I-If you k-knew, w-why ask m-me?”

Good question…I don’t have a good answer to it. Instead I just say, “For a variety of reasons. Number one being that I sometimes have a bad recollection of things, even though I’m the only member of S.H.I.E.L.D. with the marvelous ability of total recall. And number two…I have a thing for comfortable conversations.”

“Screw them, hun.” I tell her. “To them, you’re a stuttering gimp. To your own family, you’re the smartest, kindest woman alive who’d make sure to do anything to ensure that her loved ones are content with their own lives. So who’s right here?”

She smiles at me, but says nothing. And she doesn’t need to say anything at all. She knows that I am right about what I’m saying and no one should tell her differently. I am after all the most intelligent one of our family. So why wouldn’t I be right?

“So Sean and Alissa sent you here to scout out the place for them, so to speak?” I ask, and she nods in reply. “Wouldn’t they have wanted you to stay in San Fran to check out the baby a little longer? Or maybe wait a little while longer to leave together?”

“A-Alissa s-says, ‘T-The s-sooner, t-the b-better’.”

Again, that one word crosses my mind as soon after she says that: Figures.

“That’s Alissa for ya…always thinks of others before others.” Even though that makes absolutely no sense, it is the kindest way to say that Alissa still has a heart of gold at the same time she has a brain of bronze. “So you’re planning to start your own journalism career with them?”

“Oh, come on. You’d seemed just right for it to me. You express yourself a lot better in literary form than you do in speech form.”

“Y-You r-really think s-so?”

“You bet your butt I do, sweetie.” I say with a smile. “Journalism is where you should be. Maybe you can work together with Sean and Alissa on interviews? They’ll handle the questions and you can take care of the answers, transferring them to the newspaper.”

Larissa takes a deep breath and thinks for a moment. “I-If I g-go into it, t-then I w-won’t b-be working w-with A-Alissa and S-Sean.”

She got me on that one. I remember when we were all real young, Alissa would’ve done just about anything to make certain things were done right, even do someone’s job for them. She’s not the type to let something slip past her fingers or, for that matter, lose. I’ve always learned never to bet with Alissa, unless you’re certain you’re going to lose yourself.

She smiles at me again—I swear, I have never seen her smile more than I have these past few hours. She was always so down and lonely from when I last remember her. Have I made her feel a little more whole? A little more like a somebody? Maybe I was the thing missing in her life.

I didn’t want to tell her, but in the year 2003, Larissa eventually enters the world of journalism to horrible results. The only difference being that it is in San Francisco rather than New York, and neither The Bugle nor The Chronicle—but some independent tabloid (I forget the name). Larissa’s boss, some jerk without a soul, found Larissa incompetent for the job position due to her stuttering and shyness, but gave it to her anyways just to see her fail. I think his name is Russell…I can’t remember the last name…but I have heard that he is a Muppet; unlike most of the ones you would meet off the street.

Russell’s senseless tactics worked greatly, because by 2008, Larissa Thomas is considered “the worst reporter in the history of journalism.” Not a single tabloid would hire her after her failure at this particular one. If there is one thing that I find to be a “must needed” change in history, it is Larissa’s choice of newspapers. At The Chronicle, she’ll find a better boss (Mike Tarkanian) who will give her enough leverage within the company to ensure her a better, easier, and successful journalistic career.

Before our conversation could go any deeper, one of the rat waiters comes to our booth and begins to take our orders. “Okay, here. Whaddya want?” It is only after he talks do I recognize him from the other rats.

“Are you…Rizzo?” I ask.

He looks up at me for a moment and seems to recognize me himself. “Hey, you’re dat first human guest we got at da Hotel.”

I smile at the rodent for a moment and then look towards Larissa again. “Someone else came that I wanted to see even more.” She smiles back at me again, her eyes connecting with mine for the first time we started talking.

At the corner of my eye, I notice Rizzo looking back and forth between us and shaking his head negatively. “Boy, do humans ever bug da heck outta me!”

After Rizzo took our orders, I look around the diner’s interior for a while. It feels so serene, even though it looks very homely. It is the type of place that you’d expect your grandmother’s house to feel like for some unusual reason. That’s just the vibe that I get while I’m here.

And in another seven years, it will be all gone. Destroyed by greed…the greed of one woman…Rachel Bitterman.

I watch her as she gets up from her table and walks over to the counter, where Pete (the kind owner of the place) cleans it with a fresh, wet rag. He looks up from his chore and notices Bitterman there, not looking as unhappy to see her there, as he will in another few years—possibly because she has yet to threaten them with foreclosure. But whatever she says next brings a frown to his face nevertheless, because both him and his daughter, Jenny, glare at Bitterman while she departs from the diner and enters her parked limousine outside. The vibrations from the loud roar of the limo’s engines nearly shatter the front window to pieces, as it drives away from the diner block.

Once Bitterman left, Jenny and Pete try their best to collect themselves and focus on their business by getting our orders ready. Just as soon as they are, Jenny comes over to our table, trying to muster the best smile she could to hide her frustrations, and places our meals on the table politely and gently.

“Thanks, Jenny.” I say, again letting my knowledge of others show without realizing it.

Jenny looks back at me and frowns, wondering the same thing that everybody else has. “Do I know you, miss?”

However, this time I have some leverage of the situation, because I notice Jenny’s nametag on her shirt, which is good enough of a cover-up. “I just noticed your nametag. I have this thing about addressing employees by their names, once I see their nametag. Helps give the connection more meaning, as if we have been friends since college or something.”

She chuckles as she looks down at it and then back at me, with a big smile on her face (which looks more real than the one she put on before). “Oh! My mistake,” she says. “But I do get what you mean about the connection thing. I often do that myself.”

“It’s okay.” I say. “I understand that you’ve been through quite a bit.”

D**n it! I should’ve stopped on “It’s okay”!

The smile on her face quickly vanished. “What do you mean, ma’am?”

I look from her to Larissa, who is already starting to eat her burger, but stops momentarily to watch the interaction between Jenny and me. Turning back to Jenny, I say, “You just seem like you have a lot on your mind. Another thing about me that you can say is a little odd is how I can read folks. Their facial gestures are a big giveaway to me.”

That must’ve been the best cover-up that I’ve had all day, because she instantly fell for it after I said it. “I suppose it’s obvious. My father and I have been running into trouble with one of our customers, Rachel Bitterman. She’s starting to seem like our food critic, coming to eat our meals and then insulting them afterwards. Then she becomes like a health inspector, telling us how unsanitary it is to have rats cooking and serving the food. You’d expect a better attitude from someone who funds our restaurant.”

“Well, Rachel Bitterman is a woman who was born without a heart, which means you can’t expect anything nice to come from her.” I say. “Just do your best to hang in there, Jen. Everything will turn out alright in the end.”

I lie to make her feel more confident of the future, even though I already know what happens in it. If she knew the truth, it would only create chaos and disturb the balance. And who knows how she would react to it.

“That’s what Pop is always telling me.” Jenny says. “I just hope he’s right. I can’t imagine what I’d do if something were to happen to him or our diner. They both mean so much to me, next to my boyfriend Ronnie and my fashion career.”

If only she knew the truth…how different her life would turn out…no pain, no suffering, and no nightmares of death struggling within her subconscious late at night.

“It’s not fair,” I say out loud.

“What’s not?” She asks me.

I look towards my delicious food in front of me, which hasn’t been touched since it had been given to me. It’s getting cold, but it’s not the only thing that is.

“Nothing.” I say with a sigh. “Nothing at all.”

I pick up the cheeseburger and take one bite out of it. And from that one bite do I quickly realize just how great the food tasted there, despite the fact that it is made by rats—the creepiest crawlers in the world, right next to bugs and snakes. It is so hard to enjoy a nice meal when thoughts of hatred are running through your mind. Hatred of not being able to change everything in the past, without fearing of the consequences.

But if there is one thing I can be proud of today, it is that I made a difference in one woman’s life: my sister’s.

Okay. The changes have been made. Now it is time for the marvelously shocking conclusion to "Woman of Tomorrow", which will set the stage for the events of "The Invincible"!

Part Six​

It’s almost near sunset when Larissa and I arrive back at the Happiness Hotel from our dinner at Pete’s, the first thing Pops tells me is that the telephone has finally been fixed by a fella named George the Janitor, who just happen to be sweeping near us at the time of our arrival. I turn to Larissa, wondering if I should take this opportunity to call Sean or Alissa in San Francisco. Before I could even ask, she knows exactly what it is that I’m thinking and nods in agreement with the idea.

“Okay…I’ll do it.”

While I’m walking over to the telephone and dialing in the numbers to the Aunt Victoria’s house, I hear loud booming music coming from the next room, where all of the Muppets have joined together and begin singing a familiar, catchy song. After dialing the number on the telephone, I peek inside the next room and see the Electric Mayhem band formed in the center of the room, with all of the hotel residents around them and dancing along to the beat.

Dr. Teeth leads the song by singing, “People keep on learnin’…Soldiers keep on warrin’…World keep on turnin’…Cause it won’t be too long!” They play a few beats and then Dr. T continues on with, “Powers keep on lyin’…while your people keep on dyin’…World keep on turnin’…Cause it won’t be too long.”

And then the whole band comes together to sing the chorus. “I’m so darn glad he let me try it again, ‘cause my last time on earth I lived a whole world of sin. I’m so glad that I know more than I knew then. Gonna keep on tryin’…‘til I reach the highest ground!”

Just as I am getting into the song, I hear a voice over the phone, but it is one of the two people that I hoped for it to be. Again, it is neither Alissa nor Sean, but my other sibling, Melanie Malavé Thomas—my 23-year-old (30 in 2008) archaeologist/biologist sister who has obviously taken a break from her expeditions around the world to see her new baby cousin.

“Hola, you have reached the Victoria Thomas residence. This is the M.M.T. of the S.F. in grand old C.A. How can I help a brotha out?”

I chuckle at her odd and yet humorous greeting before answering. “More like a sistah than a brotha, Melanie.”

“¡Ah mi calidad!” She exclaims in her Spanish tongue. “Mi querida hermana Angelle, is that you?”

“It sure is, Mel.” I say with a big smile.

“Wow. You sound so much older now.” Melanie says. “And I mean reaaaalllllyyyyyy old. I mean like older than Aunt Victoria. So old that it’s like ‘Past Your Prime’ old.”

And now my smile fades. “Gee…thanks, Mel.”

“So how’s colegio?”

“Um, yeah, college has been great.” I quickly get down to the main reason I called before the conversation strays too far away. “Uh…is Sean or Alissa there with you right now? It’s been so long since I’ve talked to them that I’m just dying to hear their voices again.”

“Aww, well, I’m sorry to tell ya, mi hermana, but they just left for New York the moment you called.” She can’t see it, but a big look of disappointment appears on my face after she tells me that. Foiled again in my plans to make contact with my two favorite siblings.

For a minute, I consider…should I wait for them to come here? That way I can see them again and hope we can do something together, just like old times? Or should I just go back to 2008 and be glad that I had the chance to talk to Larissa and Melanie in 2001?

I’m betting that the latter choice would be the best one to make, because who knows what could happen if I choose to remain in 2008. There might not be enough vacancy left for them to check into the Hotel like they’re supposed to, or worse…they might not even recognize me like Larissa hadn’t. I’m thankful enough that Melanie was able to recognize my voice over the phone, which I should’ve known she would, since she is just as intelligent as I am—I’m the only one of my family who can understand what she says.

“Si tomo un mensaje para usted, sweetie?”

Another effect in the timeline I should consider is what would happen if they know I was here. Would they cancel their plans to apply for jobs at The Daily Bugle just to go out and visit me at my made-up college? And when they find out that it’s not real, what would happen then? Would they go out and search the ends of the world for me?

I can’t risk it. Too much could change because of it.

“No,” I tell my sister over the phone. “You don’t have to leave a message for me, Mel. Just tell them that I said ‘hey’ for me, will ya?”

“Ningún problema, mi hermana.” Melanie says. “I’ll call them as soon as they get to New York and mi extremo is in Australia with the aborigines.”

“Aborigines, eh?” I remark. “Well, be sure to them that I said ‘What up’, because S.H.I.E.L.D. hasn’t given me an assignment there yet.”

“S.H.I.E.L.D.? Is that the name of your university?”

Aw, $*% There I go again! When I am gonna learn to keep my big mouth shut? It’s no wonder that I’m even not a full-fledged agent yet.

“Uh, yeah. That’s it.” I say with a frown.

“¡Mierda santa, mi hermana! That’s a long initial for one college!”

I let out a chuckle. “Yeah, and I don’t really see eye-to-eye with the dean all that much either.”

Although she has no clue who I am really referencing, Melanie lets out a big laugh over the phone that could be heard clear across the room. “Now that’s funny, mi hermana! I’m so glad that I was able to talk to you before I left. I need a good laugh to get me through my long trip.”

It sounds like our conversation is coming to a close, so I make sure to quickly ask her, “Melanie…the new baby…Stanley, is it? What is he like? I mean, did he cry when you held him? Was he a little feisty, just like a real Thomas?”

“Oh, Angelle…he was just the cutest little pequeño I have ever seen.” She tells me, which warms my heart so much that I nearly start to cry again. “I sure do wish you get to see him sometime, Angelle.”

I swallow hard before saying, “So do I.” Wiping the tears from my eyes, I finally close our conversation. “I’ll see you in the future, Melanie.”

“Same here, mi hermana.” She says. “Oh, and one other thing…if you ever see Alissa around in Manhattan, tell el vagabundo that I still think it’s a loco idea changing her legal name, okay? I mean she’s real paranoide to think that no one would distinguish Lori Thomas from Alissa Thomas, you know what I’m sayin’?”

“Yeah, I do.” I say. “As if anybody in Manhattan would really come after her.” I hear laughing over the phone again, but it abruptly stops, and all I hear is silence over the phone. “Hello? Melanie, are you there?” I then hear the strangest dial tone ever, which leads me to believe that the telephone is acting weird again. I turn to Pops and angrily say, “I thought that this phone had been fixed!”

Pops look over at George, who is still sweeping near the front door. “Hey, George! I thought ya fixed the phone!”

“I did!” George remarks.

And then Pops turns back to me and says, “He did!”

Rolling my eyes in exasperation and despair, I place the receiver back down, hanging up the screwy telephone. God have mercy on the two young souls that will soon be checking into this d**n Hotel.

But despite my anger, I feel glad that I had the opportunity in talking with Melanie again. Neither she nor Larissa are perfect substitutes to Sean and Alissa, but they made good on this very day in time. I turn to Larissa, who has been standing behind me the whole time (possibly to listen in on the conversation), and I tell her, “Sean and Alissa are on their way here.”

She smiles proudly, while Pops says near us, “Two more guests? I don’t know if ya been noticin’ here lately, missy, but we’re runnin’ out of room as it is.”

“Have no fear, Pops.” I say. “After this night, I’ll no longer be a resident of this Hotel. I’m going to move out tonight.”

“Ya are?” Pops remarks. “Well…ya wouldn’t be the first one we drove outta here on account of our insanity.”

I laugh at the old Muppet’s comment. “Relax, Pops. I’m not leaving because of you guys. I love it here at the Happiness Hotel.”

“Ya wouldn’t be sayin’ that after two months.”

Again, I laugh, just as hard as before. “Trust me. My feelings would be the same two months later.” I turn my gaze away from Pops and focus it back on Larissa, whose smile is starting to fade (due to my repeated announcement of my departure). “Promise me one thing, sis: don’t tell them that I was here.”

“W-Why n-not?”

“Let’s just say it’s got a lot to do with the rules of time travel. If you tell them I was here, then it might have a problematic effect on the future.” She looks at me puzzlingly for a moment—not quite understanding the concept of time travel—but I am able to get a nod of affirmation from her. I smile as I give her a big hug, which would be the last one she would get from me until another seven years. “I love you so much, Larissa.”

She then remarks slowly and carefully, “I…l-love…you…too.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~​

So I leave the Happiness Hotel, not bothering to say goodbye to anybody else there. I am so horrible at saying goodbye to more than one person without crying. I could barely compose myself as I even said it to Larissa. It is important that she stays strong. I might not be until another seven years when I see her again, so I couldn’t let her confidence lower by seeing me cry. Leaving an “I love you” was perfect enough, even though she already knows that I do.

I head back to where it all started: the junkyard. I went there on foot, because I’d much rather not go through another bumpy ride in Beauregard’s taxicab and having him say goodbye to my butt (much like he did before as he welcomed it to the Happiness Hotel). But after running so many miles to my destination, it probably would’ve been a better idea.

No sense complaining now, Angelle. You’re already here.

Panting and spitting, I run past the entrance to the junkyard and head to the exact area that I’d arrived in on the previous night. It is important that I leave in the same spot that I came, otherwise the vortex might take me to a completely different timeline—and if that were to happen, I’d be bouncing back and forth between timelines forever, with no hope of getting back home.

Luckily, I have something to guide me to the spot: Oscar the Grouch’s footprints, which are still fresh. I follow them to the area that I’d arrived in, and as soon as I get there, I stop walking and start standing. What I do next is dial in “01/31/08” on the controller and then press “Enter”, opening the time vortex. Now that I know what happens once I go through it, I don’t hesitate to jump straight into it, allowing both my body and the controller to atomize and swirl around and around inside the tunnel.

Going through the tunnel again is like a reverse of what happened before…literally. I feel like I’m riding on a backwards-moving roller coaster. And the voices that I heard before are now speaking out of sync, as if they were meshed together to develop new dialogue that makes absolutely no sense at all. It is such a creepy experience that I almost feel my skin crawl and makes my head feel dizzy.

And I thought all of the swirling was bad.

Soon I am completely through the vortex and thrown back into my dump of an apartment, the controller flying out of my hands as I hit the floor with a loud thud that the superintendent could’ve possibly heard. Just as before, everything in the room begins to suck and atomize into the vortex, leaving no much left of my apartment. Immediately I crawl to the controller, which is lying on a couple of feet away from me. But just as I attempt to grab for it…

“OUCH!”

…something lands right on my arm, keeping me from reaching any further.

I stop squinting my eyes long enough to see what it is, and it turns out to be a black, heavy combat boot. The hand of a Caucasian woman reaches down at the controller and picks it up. And in just a few seconds, the swirling vortex behind me instantly shuts down, as soon as the stranger in my apartment presses the “Enter” key. Needless to say I am baffled over how well this person knows how to operate my invention.

She moves her boot away from my aching arm, allowing me to get to my feet and face her. “Alright! Just who in the h*ll do you think you are, coming up in here and…” I immediately stop as soon as I see the face. It is the face of death…the face of murder…the face of fear…the face of my 35-year-old S.H.I.E.L.D. cousin, Terah “The Terrible” Thomas.

Before I could say another word, a fist comes flying directly at my own face and connects right with my nose. The incredible force of the punch knocks me right off my feet and sends me falling right back on the floor, where I’m left sitting on my butt with a bloody nose. This is Terah’s way of saying “hello.”

Just as I am about to scream my lungs out at her, she puts her left index finger against her lips and shushes me. “My partner’s outside. I told him this’d be a ‘pleasant’ conversation.”

“And you don’t think he heard my butt slamming on the floor just now?” I retort, right before she grabs me by the shirt and lifts me off the floor, then slaps me from the left and then from the right.

“Where did you go?” She asks me, and I don’t say a word. Another slap in the face, and then she asks me again (a little louder than before), “Where did you go?”

I could stand there and get you-know-what-slapped for hours, but I don’t…only for the sake of Scooter, who doesn’t realize how insane his fellow S.H.I.E.L.D. agent is. “Alright, alright. I went to 2001.”

“To change the events of 9/11?” She asks with a grin.

“To see my brother and sister.” I say. “You remember them, don’t ya? One of them looks almost like you.”

She forcibly lets go of me as she says, “I don’t look anything like that freak.” She calls us that all of the time…freaks…only because we were born differently from her and our other S.H.I.E.L.D. cousin, Katrina.

“You’ve never even bothered to get to know them, Terah.” I say. “You call them ‘freaks’, but the only other freak around here is you!”

She smacks me across my face again, and this time it is so hard that I nearly blacked out. This girl is so strong. All of those excruciating missions that General Fury assigned her over the past eighteen years have turned into more of a killing machine than John Rambo. It would be smart on my part not to p*** her off anymore than she already is, if I still want to live to see tomorrow.

After smacking me again, she looks down at the controller and says, “So this thing sends people back and forth through time?”

“Yeah.” I say with a bloody lip.

“And you thought it’d be smart to use it for…What? Going to see some half-breeds?”

“DON’T YOU CALL THEM THAT!”

“Does that make you mad, Agent? Does that strike a nerve in ya? Are you mad because I said it about them? Or are you mad because you are one?”

I don’t say a word. Instead I just clench my fist so hard that I feel my nails digging deep into my skin, drawing blood from them.

“This is against regulation, Angelle. And you know how much I hate it when agents go against regulation!”

She starts to advance on me like she’s going to hit me again. But the one thing that saves me from another smack down is my front door, which is suddenly opened by Terah’s partner, Scooter. “Is everything okay in here? I heard a lot of shouting,” Scooter says from behind the door.

Terah’s hand immediately shoots up and covers my mouth, keeping me from saying anything to the gofer. But it was never in my intention to tell him anything in the first place.

“Everything’s okay, partner. I’ll be out in a minute. Just keep watch for the superintendent, okay?”

“Sure thing.” He happily says, before closing the door again.

Terah turns back to me and removes her hand from my mouth. She makes a disgusted expression as she looks down at my blood on her hands and wipes it off, using my shirt. It is such an insult to my humanity that I almost bring myself to punch her right in the face myself. But I don’t, just because I wish to spare myself the pain from hitting something that’s harder than a block of cement.

“I just want you to know that I’m gonna report this to Fury.” She tells me. “But don’t be so sad, Agent. You’re gonna get exactly what you always wanted, once Fury gets your badge.”

And with that said, she leaves my apartment with my time-traveling invention, slamming the door behind her. The impact of the slam causes the newspaper from January 28th to fall from the ceiling fan, where it has been hanging since Terah had shut down the time vortex. It lands right on my face, and I quickly move it away to avoid getting blood all over it. Unfortunately, blood does get it on it…right on the obituaries.

How ironic.

As I stare at the bloodstain, one particular article catches my eye. I look closely at it, reading all of the information on there. And then, I get the greatest shocker of my whole life, as three words catch my attention the most from the article: